


You are the Music

by pensiveFabulist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Humanstuck, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensiveFabulist/pseuds/pensiveFabulist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's senior prom, and as far as Calliope can tell, there's not much left to go wrong that hasn't already. But no matter how much her brother would like her to be, she isn't alone, and Roxy has no intention of stopping until she makes things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are the Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GallowsCalibrattori (When_Im_Caesar)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Im_Caesar/gifts).



> You get what you're given  
> it's all how you use it.

The corsage is torn from his hands and thrown to the ground, as a claw-like hand shoots out to wrap around his throat. Meeting his gaze are two bloodshot eyes, their colour unnaturally similar to that of candy, filled to bursting with something that makes his stomach clench and tighten.

 “This. Is completely unacceptable,” growls the stocky young man holding him, breaking eye contact for a moment to cast an appraising look across his clothes: a three piece suit, well-tailored, the bottom button left undone, and a carnation matching the abandoned corsage protruding jauntily from the lapel. A noise of revulsion sounds out as disgust crumples his captor’s face into a black scowl, and the hand at his throat holds him tighter, steadier. He blinks barely a second before the fist collides with his face.

Caliborn stands sullen on the porch, following the retreat of his sister’s date with undisguised reproach. Not until the other boy’s car pulls away does he allow himself the luxury of departing.

_See if he comes back, Cal. See if anyone does._

-

It’s been about an hour since the things sliding and crawling in the pit of her stomach sprouted wings, and the black mix of dread and fury threaten to bring her to tears any minute now. A desperate glance at the clock on her wall makes it an immutable truth: she wasn’t meant to go to senior prom, as confirmed by the confusing absence of both her dress and her date. Sprawled inelegantly in a lemon yellow nightgown across her bed, she’s grown so tired of waiting that to give up looks absolutely lovely by the time she hears the honk from outside the house.

The Cadillac is a shade of pink easily obnoxious in association with anyone else, but then, Roxy misses obnoxious only by merit of a lust for life Calliope can envy but never understand.  A closer glance directed at the back seat of the car reveals an assortment of bottles, haphazardly packed together and strapped in with a seatbelt like some sort of bizarre passenger. Peering further out the window, Calliope watches her friend pop out, towing along a seemingly reluctant Jane as she dashes towards a patch of bushes near the far side of the house. A moment later, Roxy, now entrenched in shrubbery, pulls something from a small clutch at her side, sweeps leafy debris off of her dress, then leans towards the window, hands working furiously; Jane watches from nearby, seemingly shifting anxiously. In a few moments, something happens that Calliope can’t quite make out, but whatever it is causes delight to blossom on Roxy’s face and shock to emerge on Jane’s, and then a few moments after that, the pair of them vanish.

The crash from the kitchen is enough to make her start rather badly, and when going to investigate turns up a sheepish Roxy and shell-shocked Jane amidst a scattering of broken dishes, Calliope’s brain retreats to somewhere remote, leaving her numb and speechless in front of her friends. After a few moments of silence, Roxy rather awkwardly raises a hand containing a set of lockpicks. “Would ya look at that, you’ve got a window right by the fine china….”

It takes her a few moments to get herself together, but without too much delay she’s got them seated at the kitchen table, drinking from two undamaged mugs as they explain their entry.

“See, Janey got this text a little while ago, from Jake, was it?” Roxy turns to Jane, who nods. “Yeah, from Jake, who said he saw your date speed by his house, without you. So me and Janey did some detective work--“  Jane elbows her, “—okay, Janey did some detective work, and it’s  lookin like he ran into your bro on the way here.” She glances back, a little ashamedly at the newly open window. “Figured we shouldn’t risk getting tossed out the same way.”

It feels like something cold has begun to enter the pit of her stomach, and she can feel tears pushing against the back of her eyes once again. She’s tired, so very sick and tired of him, of everything, and she wants her date and her dress, and most of all, her night back. It hurts terribly, it does, knowing that she won’t get it.

Roxy is kind enough to hold her while she cries.

-

Time is running out, so their first act after she pulls herself together is to split up, Roxy in charge of “sick makeups, ” and Jane on dress-hunting duty, on the off-chance Caliborn hadn’t been as clever getting rid of it he might have thought. Casually, Roxy pulls her into the nearby washroom, spinning her in front of the mirror and rifling through the cupboards, frowning and pouting at what she finds. Unsure of what to say, Calliope interjects, a little awkwardly, “Except for cosplay, I’m afraid I don’t wear much by the way of makeup…”

Roxy spins to look at her, then, shaking her head in mock derision, whips out a pair of compacts and a myriad of tubes from her clutch. “Guess this is gonna have to do!” She sets the collection of makeup down haphazardly on the counter, her fingers dancing over the lot; in a moment, she puckers her lips and selects a slim silver compact, before retrieving a tremendously poofy brush. The powder she dusts across Calliope’s face is a soft shade of olive, nothing like a perfect match for her skin, but Roxy is so zealous in her application that she can’t bring herself to point it out. Next is something for her lids, a vibrant chartreuse that she can’t help but feel friendly towards , then some liner that makes her blink with such rapidity that Roxy can barely stop snorting long enough to hold the brush steady. They go on like this for what feels like altogether too long, Roxy producing more and more obscure substances from the lot, as Calliope feels her anxiety building, both over the erratic makeup application and their dwindling time. When she points out to her friend that prom starts in five minutes, she is waved away with a flurry of movement, and the insight that “we gonna be fashionably late, come ON Callie.” And so she resigns herself to the wait, which ends rather unexpectedly when Jane returns with the shredded remains of her dress.

It had been a long, gauzy, gown-inspired affair, the most vibrant green she could find, and it had danced in the light of the storefront the day she bought it. She spent ages and ages deliberating once she saw the price tag, negotiating with herself to justify parting with so much of her hard earned cash, but when she finally strode away from the register, it had been worth it, so very worth it.

This being the case, she understands the look she can see in Jane’s eyes when diminutive brunette produces the dress, overwhelming sympathy mixed with apprehension, fear of more tears. And at first she feels like there might be, until she sees a kind of acceptance, a kind of _understanding_ in the look Roxy gives her, which dissipates her self-pity, leaving only black resentment for the monster she calls brother. Gently, she places a hand on Jane’s ruined bundle.

“You’re a dear, Jane, and I’m terribly thankful you found this for me, regardless.” For a moment, Jane looks as if she’s about to be overwhelmed instead, but then she swallows hard, and bows her head, before retreating from the washroom. Calliope and Roxy are left alone. It’s a moment before Roxy speaks.

“It was such a pretty dress, Callie.”

And Calliope sighs hard, because she knows what her brother’s driven her to, the last standing option. Without glancing in the mirror, she threads her fingers through the other girl’s, pulling her along through the house to where the suit hangs in her closet.

She remembers her brother hanging it there, a few weeks ago, grinning snidely as he jams the hanger in among her skirts, watching her ire grow as she grasps the implications. He, in turn, says nothing, but backs slowly from the room, daring her to pit herself against him (she doesn’t). Had she not sworn off of suits an awfully long time ago, she might have given the thing a chance, but as things stand, resentment proves difficult to overcome. What pushes her towards it, as she lifts it gingerly from the rack, is not so much desperation, but conviction in the intrinsic justice of the whole affair. He’s given her the best weapon she has left to use against him, a way to prove that he doesn’t own her. She hopes he sees every bit of her pride and her vitriol when she wears it.

When Roxy sees the suit, deduces what she means to do, she goes a little pale, gently lifting a hand to rest on Calliope’s shoulder; Roxy knew her before the change, and so sees Caliborn’s play for what it is. As Calliope tosses the ensemble on the bed, she chooses to interject. “Callie, you shouldn’t do this if you don’t want to. Look at me, kay?” and so Calliope looks at her, into those lovely eyes, (rose-coloured, and bright as the light could ever hope for). “This just looks like more of his shit, and you ain’t got to take any more of that if you don’t wanna.”

“Oh, Roxy.” She smiles, more than a little sadly. “You’ve always been so quick to jump to my defense. But surely, looking at this, you can see why this is something I’ve got to do?”

And Roxy looks, and when she meets her eyes again, it’s with a quiet sort of sorrow, coupled with a measure of acceptance. “Just gotta let you know, that no matter what you got on, you’re always gonna be beautiful. Is that understood, Callie?”

It is.

-

Ten minutes later, they’re ready to go, and just before she dashes outside to join Roxy and Jane in the Cadillac, Calliope stops to glance in the mirror one last time.

A sharp green suit, slim cut and tailored to hang elegantly across her figure, the tails on her coat hanging loosely behind. The bow tie cuts neatly across her throat, all crisp folds and clean lines, startlingly crimson against the rest of the ensemble, particularly the black shirt it immediately tops. Her head, clean shaven as always, gleams gently in the light; the same light glances off a rounded face and high cheekbones. Whatever Roxy did seems to have worked, because her eyes, rarely noticeable, appear startlingly green and wide; her skin, smooth and even. When she does climb into the back seat of the Cadillac, squeezing in beside the liquor, it is no longer heavy-hearted, but with a sense of triumph matched by her bearing.

As she moves to fasten her seatbelt, Roxy spins around from the driver’s seat, eyeing her up and down with a cat-like grin. “This is Captain Ro-Lal speaking! Are we ready to get this show on the road?” And when Calliope smiles and nods, her grin widens, and she spins around, before flooring the gas and sending them on their way.

Roxy’s right, of course; they are there fashionably late, which means that the floor is packed and swarming from the minute they arrive. At first, Calliope finds herself dumbfounded by the sheer mass of the crowd and the roar from the speakers, standing speechless on the outer edge of the undulating throng of bodies. But sure as anything, Roxy is there, and in barely a breath, the crowd takes them in, spinning them along wildly, ceaselessly to the music. And whenever an odd look or the push of the people around her threatens to reach her, always, Roxy is there, with an easy smile and a hand on her waist, and before long, she is willingly lost to the night.

Nobody is surprised when Roxy is chosen as Prom Queen. But what Calliope receives late that night, in the form of a crown and a kiss, is far more than she ever could have hoped for.

 


End file.
